Enclave Broadleaf Corona Review

Overview

There is a moment, about halfway down the Enclave Broadleaf Corona, when the smoke turns from merely dark to genuinely brooding. It’s the moment the Connecticut Broadleaf wrapper stops being a flavor and becomes a presence—a low, earthy hum underneath everything else. This is not a cigar that sneaks up on you; it announces itself with a cold draw that tastes of damp soil, dark cocoa, and a faint, almost savory note of leather. The pre-light aroma is pure barnyard and molasses, promising a density that the first puffs immediately deliver. The opening salvo is a wall of dark espresso and baker's chocolate, but it’s the earthiness—that specific, loamy character of Broadleaf—that sets the tone. It’s assertive, but not harsh; the pepper on the retrohale is a sharp, clean sting that clears the sinuses without burning them. There’s a sweetness here, too, but it’s not a confectioner’s sugar dusting. It’s the deep, almost bitter sweetness of dark molasses, the kind that clings to the back of the tongue and asks for another sip of black coffee.

As the ash holds its first firm column, the blend begins to unfold with a deliberate patience. The initial espresso shot mellows into a richer, more textured brew, and the supporting cast emerges. A dry cedar note appears, not as a bright, aromatic wood, but as the scent of an old, sun-warmed spice box. This is joined by a leatheriness that is supple and worn, like the inside of a well-used glove. The real shift, however, is the introduction of dried dark fruit—a concentrated raisin and dark cherry compote that weaves through the savory base. This is where the Broadleaf’s inherent sweetness, which was merely a shadow in the first third, steps into the light. The pepper recedes to a background tingle, allowing the cigar’s core character to breathe. The strength builds steadily, a persistent pressure rather than a sudden jolt, moving from medium into the heart of medium-full with a confident, unhurried gait.

The final third is a masterclass in controlled intensity. The fruit notes recede, replaced by a charred oak that is more smoke than wood, and the chocolate deepens into a dark, almost bitter 90% cacao bar. The roasted coffee returns, but now it’s a long, lingering finish that coats the palate with a satisfying, savory bitterness. A distinct black licorice note emerges on the retrohale, adding an anise-like complexity to the final act. The strength peaks here, a firm, full-bodied conclusion that rewards the smoker who has paid attention. The burn remains sharp, requiring no corrections, and the ash holds in dense, light-grey layers. This is a cigar that builds a narrative from the first draw to the last, a story of earth, sweetness, and strength that feels both deliberate and organic. It’s a serious smoke, but one that never forgets it’s meant to be enjoyed, not just analyzed.